


Wolf Spider

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Languages, M/M, Red Room, Red Room Clint Barton, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clinton Barov is the top soviet agent there is - codenamed the Wolf Spider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't make up the Wolf Spider program - it's a real thing in the Marvel Universe, albeit a very underused one (there was only ever one Wolf Spider candidate in canon, I'm just making it two, Clint being the other one)

The French party was quite grand. The hall was large and decorated with a lot of Christmas trees and various other decorations, with a definite lean towards the colors of red and green, following the classic clichés of Christmas time. Clinton was at the center of it all, making small talk and laughing with practically everyone there. His cover was that type of person, a charming and compassionate person, someone who asked after the kids and about the dog and all those other things he himself didn't care about at all.

Clinton extracted himself from the current conversation he was in when he saw his target walk past on her way to the bar. He followed the womanEliza Jones, high-ranking Interpol agentover and offered to buy her a drink. She accepted, of course; Clinton was good at what he did.

After a few minutes of playing the part of the kind and charismatic man who cared deeply about everything the woman had to say, Clinton bated his eyelashes at her and leaned closer. _"It is quite loud in here,"_ he said in French, _"I can barely hear a word that you are saying! Maybe we could find a quieter place to continue our discussion?"_ Eliza Jones's cheeks flushed slightly, but she nodded immediately.

Clinton smiled and nodded back, taking her hand and letting her lead him to a more private area; he knew the layout of the place by heart, but his cover had no reason to, so he pretended that he didn't. Eliza Jones led him to a small sitting area off the side of the large ballroom that they had been in for the party. The sitting room had a fire roaring in the fireplace and a Christmas tree covered in decorations in the corner. Lights were strung up around the room, and the rug was a pristine white.

 _"So, Mr. Carter,"_ Ms. Jones sat with a bat of her eyelashes as she moved further into the room. _"What is it, exactly, that you wanted to talk to me about?"_

Clinton pulled the small knife he had out of his tux pants' pocket when she turned her back to him. He came quickly up behind her and dragged the blade across her throat and then stepped away, not wanting to get any of the spray of blood on his tux. Eliza Jones gurgled, her hands coming up to hold her neck as she fell to the floor. Her blood spilled across the floor, a drastic contrast to the white rug. He watched the life fade from her for a few moments, making sure she was actually dead, before he went to make his exit.

Clinton made his way out of the building, a satisfied smirk on his lips and an excited glint in his eyes. He always felt so alive right after completing a job, blood pumping through his veins, adrenaline levels soaring. It was a big change from the dead feeling that always filled him whenever he had downtime.

After exiting the building, the Red Room agent moved swiftly down the street. He ducked quickly down an alleyway and removed his tux, turning it inside out so that the normal clothing sewed to the inside was showing, and then put it all back on. By the time he reached the end of the alleyway and came back out onto a main street, he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, black hoodie, and black jeans, along with his nice dress shoes that he sadly couldn't change.

Clinton pulled his hood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, blending into the small crowd who was out at nine o-clock on a Thursday night. Clinton was a little cold in just a light hoodieit was the twenty-third of Decemberbut he was from Russia, born and raised, so he was used to the cold by now.

He was just a few blocks from the rendezvous point where he was supposed to meet his handler when he felt multiple pairs of eyes on him. It was a different sort of feeling than when girls or guys were checking him out; this was the sort of laser focus that came only from intense training. So Clinton continued to move normally, stopping at a news-stand as an excuse to look around. He pulled one of the newspapers off of the rack, paying for it with a quick smile. He leaned against the wall of the stand and pretended to read from the paper, subtly examining the thin crowds around him.

 _There._ About forty-five yards away were a small group of people, six in total. They were in civilian clothing and acting as if they were just out on a night on the town, but Clinton was good at what he did, and he could spot a spy from a mile away. The six of them were clearly spies.

Clinton held his position for a few moments longer before folding up the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He began walking down the street again, cutting into the first alleyway he spotted to try and lose the people who were following him. He turned down the alleyway and

 _Shit._ It was a dead end.

Clinton turned quickly back around and stopped short. The group of six that he'd spotted before were standing in the mouth of the alleyway, spread out and blocking his path. Behind them were at least nineno, tenpeople decked out in black and carrying large guns; all of the weapons were pointed directly at him, laser-pointers lighting up on his chest and head.

"Commander Barov," one of the six people in civilian clothing called loudly; Clinton noticed that all of the undercover agents were now holding handguns. "My name is Phil Coulson, I'm an agent of SHIELD. I assume that you've heard of us?"

Clinton smirked, and fell into a loosely defensive stance. He didn't have to, of course, he was just as dangerous standing ramrod straight as he was in a ready stance, but it added to the threat level; he didn't want the SHIELD Agents thinking he was just going to come willingly. "Of course I've heard of you," he said with a low chuckle, "I just do not find you to be any threat to me," he let his Russian accent slide through, knowing it always intimidated people more than any other accent he could do.

One of the people stepped forwardthe one who had introduced himself as Phil Coulsonso that Clinton could better see his face. The SHIELD agent had a friendly smile on his face, but Clinton could easily see the tension running through out the older man's body. It was kind of amusing, actually.

"Well, good, because we're not here to threaten you," Agent Coulson said, calm expression never changing. Clinton rose his eyebrows and nodded towards the ten people currently pointing weapons at him, and the other five loosely holding their handguns. Agent Coulson twitched slightly. "They are just here as a precautionyou have made quite a name for yourself as a dangerous opponent; we wouldn't want you to do something rash before we got a chance to speak to you."

Clinton laughed and then nodded. "Alright, Agent Coulson," he said, slipping easily back into the French accent he'd been using for the mission that he'd just completed. "What is it, exactly, that you want to talk to me about?"

Agent Coulson took another few steps further into the alleyway and closer to Clinton, and put his gun back into the holster on his hip. He seemed to take Clinton's easy and open expression as an opening, though that was just what Clinton wanted the agents to think; the closer they got, the easier it would be to take them all out.

"I want you to come in with us," Agent Coulson said. Clinton rolled his eyes. "I've heard things about you from a reliable source, Commander Barov. You only kill those that you're directly ordered to kill. You give money to random people you see on the street because you think they need it more than you. You care about people, Commander Barov. Wouldn't you rather put your various skills to use in a good wayby _helping_ people?"

Clinton felt a flash of anger run through him. How on earth did he know all of that? Clinton always made sure to hide his weaknesses from everyone. The only people that really knew about them were a couple other Red Room agents, but even they didn't actually grasp the whole of what it meant. Clinton killed when he was told, seduced when he was asked, and did everything else he was ordered to do. But he avoided other casualties as all costs. Besides, the reason for his weakness

No, he couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about _him._

"I am a good soldier," Clinton said, feeling the need to defend himself and hide his weakness. "I do as I am ordered."

"And nothing more," Agent Coulson said, sounding a little sad. "I came across someone a few years ago; she was the best at what she did, a very effective killer, like you. But, also like you, she didn't kill those outside of her mission. I was able to recruit her. She is now one of the top SHIELD agents; she is putting the horrible things she was trained to do to good use. You could as well."

It was tempting, Clinton couldn't deny that. No matter the thrill killing sometimes gave him, he couldn't ignore the nausea that twisted his stomach every time he had to put a bullet in some poor five-year-old's brain, the child's only crime that they had seen too much.

Just as quickly as these doubts entered Clinton's thoughts, he pushed them away. He had somethingsome _one_ to protect in Red Room, someone who deserved his protection. If he defected, the Powers That Be would hurt _him,_ maybe even kill _him._ So no, Clinton couldn't. No matter what he wanted to do, he had made a promise long ago to do whatever he could to protect _him,_ and that's what he would do.

"No, I don't think so," Clinton said slowly, still hating that he had to come to this conclusion, but knowing it was his only real option. "I can't do that. I have a duty. I swore an oath."

Agent Coulson nodded, but his expression was thoughtful. "Yes, I bet you did. But my question is, to who? The Red Room? Or someone else?"

Clinton froze, the first time he'd been caught off guard in a long time. This is what made him leap into action. He darted forward, striking out with his hand. He slashed the side of his hand against Agent Coulson's neck, causing the man to gasp for air and back up a few steps. Clinton rushed past the man and towards the waiting crowd of SHIELD agents, who were frozen in shock for a few minutes before raising their weapons and opening fire. Clinton ignored the burst of pain in his shoulder from where a bullet hit him, and then another in his arm, and kept going.

That is, until something thin and metal stuck him straight in the neck. His quick steps faltered, and then he fell to his knees as his body refused to keep cooperating. He screamed at himself to keep going, to get out of the situation that was going rapidly downhill, but whatever they had shot him with was relaxing all of his muscles and he couldn't control his body anymore.

After a few moments of just lying face-first on the alleyway floor, he felt his wrists be pulled behind his back and secured with something that felt like handcuffs. He was then lifted by multiple pairs of hands and carried _somewhere._ He couldn't see much, still facing the ground, and he still couldn't get his muscles to obey him, but he recognized the metal ramp of some sort of jet that he was being carried onto.

The hands placed him on a gurney and strapped him down, luckily with him facing upward. He tried to turn his head to look around, but there was no control in his neck muscles, so his head just flopped to the side, forcing him to look at the 'jet' wall.

The first thing that popped into his head was worry for _him._ They would surely hurt _him_ to punish Clinton for being captured. As soon as he escaped from SHIELD and made his way back to Red Room, he and _him_ were in for a serious hurting.

Clinton had met _him_ James was his name; well, that was what Clinton called him, at leastwhen he had first joined the Red Room. It was just him and one other boy, surrounded by a whole bunch of girls who were training to be the Black Widow, while him and the boy were training to be the Wolf Spider. James had been one of the trainers for the Wolf Spider program, and Clinton had been his best student. After Clint had been given the title of the Wolf Spider, and he and James began going on missions together, it was only natural that they fell in love.

It was exactly four hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirty one seconds later when they landed, and Clinton had begun to get control of his body again. He guessed that they were in New York; even though a normal plane ride from Paris to New York would take about seven hours, he assumed that SHIELD probably had some new high-tech type of jet that could make the flight in a shorter time. It was a reasonable assumption; after all, Red Room had a couple jets that were pretty fast.

When the jet was fully settled on the ground, the ramp lowered and Clinton was wheeled down it. He watched the bright blue sky until he couldn't see it anymore, being pulled into a building. They stood (well, the SHIELD agents stood, he laid down) in something that seemed to be an elevator, going by the downward motion. When they stopped moving, there was the sound of something sliding and then they were moving again, bright lights spread evenly throughout the metal ceiling.

After turning down hallway after hallway, the agents stopped his gurney. There was a swiping sound and then a chirping-beep, and they moved again, but only a few more feet. When they stopped completely, the agents left. Clinton was left in silence, his thoughts his only company. After a minute, the metal bands holding him to the gurney snapped open, and he was free.

Clinton sat up slowly, giving his body time to adjust to being in his control again. He looked around and saw that he seemed to be in some sort of interrogation room; there was a metal table and two chairs in the center of the small room, all of them appearing to be bolted to the floor. The gurney he was sitting on was pushed into a corner, across from a large door, presumably the one they'd wheeled him through. There was a camera in the center of the ceiling, and a small panel of mirrorprobably a two-way mirroron one of the walls.

 _"Commander Barov,"_ a voice said, coming from the ceiling. Clinton looked up and saw a small speaker by the camera, presumably where the voice had come from. _"There is a pair of handcuffs hooked to the table in front of you. Lock yourself up with them. When you do that, someone will come in to speak with you."_

Clinton continued to sit on the gurney, but then figured it couldn't hurt to follow the instructions; he was curious about what they would say to him, and he couldn't find out until he locked himself up.

When he was settled in one of the metal chairs and his hands were locked to the table, the door slid open with a beep. A woman entered, and only Clinton's many years of training kept his jaw from dropping open. The woman has startling red hair and bright green eyes. She wore a black outfit and carried herself with an easy confidence, her gate that of a predator. The strangest thing, though, was that Clinton _knew_ her.

"Natalia Romanova," Clinton said in his natural Russian accent, barely keeping the shock from his voice. "Well, this _is_ a surprise. We were told that you defected, but I never would've guessed that you actually did it; I always assumed that you had just gone rogue. But no, the infamous _Black Widow_ is now nothing more than an American lapdog. How disappointing."

Natalia slowly moved further into the small room, the door sliding shut behind her. She took a seat across the table from Clinton and folded her hands on the table. They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Romanova spoke. "Actually, I go by Natasha now. Natasha Romanoff," she paused, staring for just a bit longer. "It's been a long time, Clinton; it's good to see you. I wish it was under better circumstances."

Clinton rolled his eyes. "Natasha, hmm? Very American," he said, saying it as an insult. "I can only assume that you are the way that the SHIELD Agent Coulson found out about all those things about me? Are you a SHIELD Agent as well, or just here to bring me to my knees?"

This time Nataliaor Natasha, whateverrolled her eyes. "Let's not play games, Clinton. You know why I'm here; they sent me to convince you to defect to the United States. And I know that you want to, Clinton, more than anyone could possibly imagine. But I also know that you won't, unless we can protect _him,_ too." Clinton froze. "I don't know who the person is, but I remember hearing about the way that they would punish you most often, but hurting whoever _'he'_ is. What if we could save him as well? We could help you get him out of there, Clinton. All you have to do is ask."

It was so very tempting. What if they could do it? What if they could get James while he was out on mission, like they had with Clinton? Then they would both be free to have a life, even together if they so wished. And Clinton did wish; he wanted to have a real life, one where the brains of children weren't blown out on a regular basis, one where mind-wiping wasn't a normal day-to-day thing. He wanted missions where he didn't doubt the rightness of them, and friends who weren't always vying for his position. Most of all he wanted the freedom of choice, and freedom for James.

"Could you?" Clinton asked, looking Natalia/Natasha, his former-and-maybe-future ally, dead in the eyes. "Do you really think that you could recue him? Getting people out of Red Room is no easy task, which you should know, seeing as you once were a Red Room Agent. So I need your honest answer now, Natalia, from one friend to another. Do you _honestly_ think that you can get my James out?"

"I do, Clinton," Natalia said without hesitation.

"Well," Clinton said with a small, relieved grin, "I guess you can call me Clint, then. I might as well have an American name if I'm going to be an American SHIELD agent."


	2. Six Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end notes of the chapter (from google translate, please don't judge me!)

Clint got the text on the second-to-last day of his mission.

He was on an undercover mission to take down a ring of arms dealers. It was supposed to be a month long mission, enough time for him to establish he cover as Nicklaus Albrecht, a German arms dealer who was quite ruthless and a little bit insane, and to join the ring by gaining the loose trust of the other arms dealers. It wasn't all that hard to gain their trust, Clint thought, all he had to do was know his stuff about weapons (which he did) and seduce the right people. All too easy.

So it was quite a surprise to Clint when, on the freaking  _second-to-last_ day of his mission, he got a text from Natalia (six years and he still had trouble calling her Natasha) telling him that the Winter Soldier had been spotted, killed the director of SHIELD, Nick FuryClint felt a little bad about that, but Fury was kind of an assholeand then disappeared like a ghost again. Clint didn't even hear most of what she said, because she had just confirmed that the Winter Soldier was still alive. That  _James_ was still alive.

Clint dropped his mission right away, leaving behind Germany and the disguise of the ruthless Nicklaus Albrecht, hoping on the first plane going to America. Luckily enough, it was headed for Washington DC, exactly where he needed to be.

When he landed, he had three new messages on his phone. Two from Natalia, updating him on the situation. Hydra wasn't just still alive, but it was also in SHIELD. Brock Rumlow was a dirty traitor, and so was Jasper Sitwell, which really made Clint's blood boil. Also, Nick Fury actually wasn't _actually_ dead, but hiding away in some bunker with Maria Hill, his second in command, who saved Natalia and Cap from being killed.

When Clint arrived, Natalia hugged him and murmured calming things in Russian. Rogers _(Captain America;_ they'd met when a freaking _god_ had brainwashed Clint and then led an alien army through a portal and into New York. Because, why not?) shook his hand and introduced him to his new friend, Sam Wilson, who wore mechanical wings. Rogers looked very stressed out, and that was when they decided to tell Clint that The Winter Soldier _his James_ was actually Bucky Barnes, Rogers' childhood friend. (And seriously, what was his life?)

The plan was a simple yet complicated one. The first step was to break into the Triskelion. Cap was going to deliver a heart-wrenching speech over the loud speaker about how Pierce was Hydra and that he was using Project Insight (three killing machines pretending to be peace-Helicarriers) to target anyone Hydra considered a threat. Natalia used a Nano Mask to pretend to be a member of the World Security Council. When the speech failed to stop the Insight Helicarriers, Plan B was put into place.

Sam (codenamed Falcon), Steve, and Clint would each be going to one of the Helicarriers. Their job was to switch out a chip in the motherboard for one that would connect all three Insight Helicarriers and then take them down. Steve got his in first, and then Sam blasted his way into one of the 'carriers and placed the second one in. Clint made his way into the bowels of the third Insight 'carrier, taking down anyone who got in his way.

Over the comm in his ear, Clint heard that the Winter Soldier had made an appearance, and was taking out real SHIELD agents. Clint wanted so badly to go and find James, his James, the man he loved who he hadn't seen in over six years. But Clint had a job to do; he knew that taking down these Insight Helicarriers before they could hurt anyone was much more important to do than reuniting himself with his love.

"я́стреб," a deep voice called from behind him while Clint was making his way towards the circular place where the chips were being held. Clint turned and his breath caught in his throat, because standing there in front of him was James, his amazing James, The Winter Soldier. There was recognition in his eyes, but it was hazy, like he wasn't quite sure if his memory of Clint was real.

"Да это я. как ты, Джеймс?" Clint said softly, trying and failing to keep the affection out of his voice.

"Ты оставил меня. Зачем?" The Winter Soldier was always emotionless, but this man standing before him, was a mixture between the Soldier and James. James was peaking through the cracks, trying to break free like he had so often back when he and Clint had been a team. Clint felt his heart break at the words. _You left me. Why?_ James sounded so lost, so confused. Clint wanted nothing more than to help him.

"James, моя любовь, you need to listen to me. You trust me, yes?" James nodded slowly. "You have a mission, I understand that, but I have a mission, too. My mission is very importantАльфа-уровеньand though I know Pierce probably told you that taking down Капитан Америка and Natalia is very important, but you must listen to me, моя любовь; Hydra is not good. They have brainwashed you. You once said that you would follow me to the ends of the Earthand I the same for youand now I need you to honor that promise. You know me, зима, you know I would never lead you astray. And you know Капитан Америка  as well. His name is Steve Rogers, and he was your best friend."

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Steve enter the dome-like area behind James, but Clint have a subtle shake of his head, never taking his eyes off of James. Steve followed the instruction, not moving from where he was positioned, but looked ready to move if he was needed. He wouldn't be; Clint knew exactly what he was doing, knew how to bring James in.

"What do we do now?" James asked brokenly.

Clint's gaze softened and he walked slowly forward, giving James time to back away or tense if he was going to. He didn't, and soon Clint was standing right in front of James for the first time in six years. He placed his hand on James' cheek and was happy to see James lean into the touch, his eyes sliding shut. Clint sighed and moved forward, resting his head against James' shoulder, his body relaxing.

"I missed you, зима, so very much. You ask what we do now? First, I put this chip," he brought it out of his pocket and raised it up to eye level, "in that slot," he gestured to the waiting case, "and let the Insight Helicarriers take themselves out. Then, you and I and Steve-" (James jerked at Steve's name, Clint decided not to comment) "-and Natalia find a safe place to find your triggers and work through them, work on getting your memories back. Does that sound good, зима? Are you ok with that? I'll be with you every step of the way."

"Take me home, Hawk. Take me home." James pressed his lips firmly against Clint's, and it was just like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like this! Yes, this chapter is shorter; no, I don't think I'll be continuing this past this chapter; yes, I will if enough people love this
> 
> я́стреб = hawk  
> Да это я. как ты, Джеймс? = Yes, it's me. How are you, James?  
> Ты оставил меня. Зачем? = You left me. Why?  
> моя любовь = my love  
> Альфа-уровень = Alpha Level  
> Капитан Америка = Captain America  
> зима = Winter


End file.
